


Cliches and Impromptu Meetings

by aalyak



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 15:28:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13103124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aalyak/pseuds/aalyak





	Cliches and Impromptu Meetings

One second she was walking through London’s night crowd, and the next she was sprawled on the cold cement. Her shawls and beads twisted around her. She peered through her thick bifocals and wondered why it was so dark, before realizing one of her shawls had been flung over her head.

She sat up pulling the shawl back into place and made eye contact with a pair of fierce eyes hidden in a mess of black curls.

“Watch it!”

She pulled herself to her feet and muttered to herself as she untangled her beads from her shawls. If she were braver, she’d yell something back at the woman’s retreating form, but she wasn’t in the mood to pick a fight. This was supposed to be a nice night out.

She had felt cooped up in her apartment, isolated after her last prophecy. She should have been used to the solitude by now after having little friends at Hogwarts and even less friends after leaving. But every now and then, when the London streets were especially lively, the empty spaces in her apartment would fill up with the sound of laughter bubbling up from the streets below, and she would start to notice the holes in her life that could have been occupied by something other than her thoughts.

She had thought about getting a cat, but she barely remembered to feed herself. She spent too much time starring into tea grounds left at the bottom of tea cups and reading moldy books about the Inner Eye to care for another being.

So, instead she had gone out that night, surrounding herself with civilization in an effort to feel a part of it – even if it was just the muggle world.

She fought the urge to slink back to her apartment and nurse the embarrassment of falling on her ass in public. No, no, she was doing this. She was going out, and she would have something of a good time.

She stepped into the bar. It wasn’t a populated bar, which she liked. She just wanted some human interaction. The bar was dark and foggy – were bars supposed to be foggy? – pools of light dodgy and dim. Through the haze, she could see a couple of people sitting at the bar top nursing pints of beer, the bartender hidden in shadows cleaning dishware with a rag that had seen better days. The whole bar had seen better days.

She walked to the bar top and tapped her fingers against the counter, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. She stood close enough to the couple next to her to hear snippets of their conversation and felt comforted by their soft voices.

This was fine. She could spend the rest of her night here and be fine.

“Were you going to order something or just bloody stand there?”

A woman was suddenly in her face, way too close for a stranger and too loud for the quiet murkiness of the bar. She was leaning over the bar top; her blood red lips pulled back from her teeth and her eyes flashed unmercilessly.

She had seen those eyes before – from earlier. Her ass ached as she starred back and the embarrassment returned. She tried to speak, but nothing came out except an undignified squeak.

The woman was tall, her dark messy curls artfully piled atop her head (she had tried to sport the same perfectly messy look earlier with her own curls and had ended up looking like an overflowing dumpster) making her seem even taller. The woman was tying an apron around her waist as she starred back at her, challenging, leering. The leather jacket hanging loosely from her shoulders – how did people wear jackets like that without them falling off, she wondered– looked worn and soft; she wanted to rub her cheek against the sleeve, maybe even share it with the woman as it was probably warm against the bitter London nights and her own shawls barely did the trick.

The woman was beautiful in the way a predator is beautiful – something you can’t take your eyes away from even as it pulls the innards from its prey. Even though blood makes you squeamish. A beauty that has seen and knows violence, maybe even takes pleasure in it.

Around the outline of the woman’s body she glimpsed a wild, pulsing aura. She had never seen an aura like it; every color swirled manically together all at once. She couldn’t look away. Deep purples washing over bright yellows colliding with dull greens pulsing with vibrant reds. Every now and then something dark would streak across the colors, gone before she could really assess what it was.

“OI, Roger! Where the hell do you think you’re going? You and I both know bloody well your tab isn’t closed out!” The two finally broke eye contact as both turned toward the man in question as he flashed a guilty smile before hurrying towards the door. The woman cursed, pulling out something long and curved that had been hidden away under her apron.

Her own wand was hidden up her sleeve, and she wanted to grab it, too, to show the beautiful woman she wasn’t a total dud. But she wasn’t a fighter and couldn’t remember any spells that would be useful in this situation.

The woman murmured something under her breath, and just like that, Roger was back in front of the bar, taking out his wallet mechanically, throwing crumpled bills on the counter before turning around and walking back out.

“Wanker,” the woman muttered as she gathered up the pile of bills, smoothing each out before putting it away in the cash register. “A drink. You want it or not?”

“Yes,” she stuttered. “A beer? Please.”

“You’re not a muggle either,” the woman said as she filled up a pint with amber liquid.

“No.”

“But I don’t know you.”

“Uh, right, well I think you knocked me down outside, but after that, no I can’t say we’ve met.”

The woman looked up, and laughed with her head back. “That was you? I thought I had collided with some old lady.” She laughed again. “Must be all those tea doilies you’re wearing. What’s your name, witch?”

She wanted to be affronted about the old lady comment, but then again one of her shawls was in fact a tea doily.

“Sybill,” she said, proud that she hadn’t stuttered.

“Did you go to Hogwarts, Sybill?”

“Of course.”

“Don’t remember you, must have gone at different times.” The woman handed her the beer. “What is a pretty thing like yourself doing out all alone? No bloke?”

“Well, I just – it’s Saturday,” she said, ignoring the bloke comment by taking a sip of her drink.

The woman laughed again, and Sybill couldn’t help but wonder if she was laughing at her. The woman wasn’t necessarily nice, but Sybill couldn’t get herself to move away.

“Your aura,” she started to say, wanting to hold the woman’s attention.

The woman raised one thin eyebrow, a snarl forming on her lips. Maybe that was how she smiles, Sybill wondered.

“It’s – I’ve never seen anything like it,” she finished lamely.

“You can see my aura. That’s weird. What does it look like?”

She blurted out “Beautiful!” before she could stop herself and felt every surface of her skin turn a blotchy red. The woman stared at her, her snarl slowly widening. That was definitely how she smiled.

“What are you doing after this?”

“I don’t know.” Her blush deepened and she made a note to look up spells to keep her skin a neutral pale when she got home.

“Well, what’s say we get out of here and go have some fun.” The woman leaned over the counter again, pushing her face close to Sybill’s. Sybill’s eyes dropped to the woman’s mouth before jumping back up to her eyes. The woman licked her lips.

“Is your shift over?” Sybill forced herself to maintain eye contact and not follow the woman’s tongue.

She laughed. “It can be.” She turned around and spoke to the shadows where the bartender was still cleaning glasses. “Oi, I’m leaving now.” And with that she opened the register, took out some pounds, and ducked under the counter.

She grabbed Sybill’s hand, and tugged her out of the bar and back into the cold. It had started snowing and the thick flakes got caught in the woman’s hair. Sybill reached for one, tangling her fingers into the woman’s damp curls. The woman pulled her around until they were face to face.

“Let’s go,” the woman whispered.

“Wait, you didn’t tell me your name?”

“Bellatrix,” the woman mumbled as she closed the gap between them. Their lips touched finally, Bellatrix teasing and teeth, and Sybill barely holding on for the ride.


End file.
